


Come Away o' Human Child

by Skitty_the_Great



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Child Abuse, F/M, mcbb 2015
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-04
Updated: 2015-10-04
Packaged: 2018-04-24 17:14:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4928233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skitty_the_Great/pseuds/Skitty_the_Great
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Come away, O human child!<br/>To the waters and the wild<br/>With a faery, hand in hand,<br/>For the world’s more full of weeping than you can understand.<br/>-Yeats</p><p>The little girl next door is sick, or so her parents say.  But Castiel knows better.  An unlikely and forbidden friendship, the fumblings of young love…she can’t possibly be what they say she is.  Can she?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Co-Written with Plumarum

 

**  
**

 

Bedtime was at 7 o’clock. Cas knew that, and he knew, in a vague sense, when that was meant to be. He could read the numbers on the little digital clock that lit up his room with a pale blue light, but he wasn’t entirely sure what they meant. Not really. 7 o’clock meant it was time for bed. 7 o’clock meant the sky outside was getting dark, and even though he could still hear older kids riding by on their bikes, and the TV downstairs was keeping him awake, he was still tucked snug in his bed with the blankets up to his chin and the glow in the dark stars on his ceiling shining weakly down on him. Or at least, he was supposed to be. Adults, he supposed, didn’t have a good grasp on time, and perhaps that was why they were so intent on him being in bed based on it. There were so many other things he could have been doing that were so much more important than laying in bed waiting for sleep when he wasn’t even remotely tired. And so he defied the clock and it’s arbitrary hours. But he did so quietly.

  
The trick, he had discovered, was not to move around too much. If he moved too quickly, or made too much noise, his parents would hear and come to check on him. He’d discovered that very early on, before he could even truly remember doing it. What he did remember was the surprise that came with the realization that sound carried. That he had been heard and discovered and the result had been a removal of the toy he most wanted to play with. The noisier toys, therefore, were off limits. The music makers and most definitely Jack in his frustrating box, predictable and boring yet somehow still a source of momentary amusement, were all left untouched. That left him with the simpler toys; the stuffed animals that had been with him, he assumed, forever. He was quite busy lining them up on his windowsill, believing that, at the very least, they should have a chance to see the real stars and not the fake bits of greenish stickers that littered his ceiling without rhyme or reason, when he saw her for the very first time.

The house next door belonged to a man and a woman with no children of their own, or so Cas’s parents had said. When they’d moved in barely a month ago, he had been excited by the prospect of new neighbors who might bring with them someone he could play with or perhaps a dog or friendly cat. The disappointment he’d felt when they came with none of those embellishments had been crushing to his tiny, six year old heart, but he had moved on admirably. Now, he stood still in confusion, a look of concern far beyond his years twisting his features as he gazed down into the yard next door. His view was partially blocked by the limbs of a large tree that grew between their houses, it’s trunk firmly placed on his neighbor’s side of a rather tall privacy fence which they had been quick to build the moment they moved in. Normally, Cas couldn’t see into their yard at all. But, through a small gap between limbs, he could see her: a small girl of about his own age, sitting by herself in the grass. Her back was turned to him, leaving her as little more than a pair of hunched over shoulders and long, slightly tangled brown hair. He felt a slight pang of jealousy as he watched her. He had certainly never been allowed to play outside so late, with the sky getting darker by the minute and the balmy summer air taking on the slight chill of night. Already, small pinpricks of light were rising from the grass as lightening bugs began to rise up into the air, and the mild pang of his jealousy twisted almost painfully in his small chest. Why was she allowed to be outside when he was expected to go to bed?

Cas stood for a moment in consideration, then reached for the edge of his window and gave a mighty shove. The windowpane slid open, but only a few inches. It grated against the frame, giving the slightest squeal of paint on on paint, and Cas froze, listening. He’d made a sound. Slightly panicked, he waited for the sound of his mother’s footsteps coming to check on him. Would it be better or worse if he tried to throw himself into bed? What if she hadn’t heard him yet? Surely the squeak of bed springs would bring her even faster than the small noise his window had made, wouldn’t it? He stood, frozen on the spot for what felt like an eternity, but the only sound he could hear was the racing of his own heart.

Looking back up at his window, Cas huffed in frustration. It was barely open and already too high for him to push further. Dismayed, he looked around his small room for something to help him. Against one wall stood a tiny Fisher Price easel and a bright red chair to match it. Grabbing the chair, Cas lifted it and shuffled across the room, not wanting the sound of dragging chair legs to attract the notice of his parents. Placing it beside the window, he climbed up, and pushed the glass higher. It rattled in its frame, but did not squeak again, for which he was very grateful. He had to speak to the girl, whoever she was. He had to know how she had convinced her parents to let her play when his were so annoyed with him whenever he resisted bedtime. His leg bumped one of his toys, a small, sad eyed dog, and it toppled out of the window, falling all the way to the ground. Quite a long way down… Cas swallowed nervously, and hesitated.

Below him, the girl laughed. It was a quiet sound, one he was familiar with. One that was meant not to attract attention, but had to be voiced all the same. It wasn’t the loud, almost aggressive laugh he was so used to on playgrounds and at daycare. The other children, they always seemed to laugh as if it were more about making noise than expressing their joy, something he’d never been entirely comfortable with. Something he’d never been able to understand. They were laughs for other people. This was a laugh meant for herself. Courage renewed, he clambered onto the windowsill and reached out to grasp the thick branch of the tree where it brushed against the house. Some nights, when the wind blew, the branch would bang against his window enough to frighten him. But tonight the air was cool and the wind was calm, and the branch stayed steady as he climbed out onto it.

The realization came to him, rather belatedly, that he hadn’t entirely thought this through. The ground was so far beneath him and, as Cas scrambled quickly yet carefully towards the comforting bulk of the trunk, he tried not to think about just how far down that actually was. His heart was again racing fast in his chest, but he tried not to listen. Instead, he listened to her. Who was she? He knew she didn’t belong to the neighbors...couldn’t belong to the neighbors. They’d been there for ages now, he surely would have seen her. Or at least he should have seen them carrying in things for her. He’d watched avidly as the movers unloaded furniture and boxes without number, but he hadn’t seen a child’s bed go through those doors. Perhaps he had missed it?  
Here, closer to her side of the world, he could see her a bit more clearly. From above, he peered down at her, and saw for the first time what she was doing. She was building, in a way. Little sticks and leaves were piled up in front of her in what could vaguely have been called a building, or perhaps a castle. The latter was supported only by the deep round trench she was industriously digging around her tiny structure, obviously a moat. Her hands were dirty in a way that would have made his own mother shriek with dismay. He wanted to help. He wanted to dig and have dirty hands too. He lost his fear to haste as he began climbing quickly towards the ground.

The ground grew nearer, though he tried not to watch it creeping upwards, fearful he would lose his grip if he wasn’t watching his hands. One foot at a time. One branch at a time. The descent was easier than he expected, the close growing tree limbs forming a natural ladder for him almost all the way to the ground. Almost. Castiel paused, his feet on a wide branch, nearly wide enough for him to stand without support, and looked down. That was it. He was out of tree to climb, and he was still much too far off the ground. Had he been older, or at least a bit taller, it might not have seemed like such a vast distance. As it was, he might as well have been looking into the depths of the Grand Canyon. He looked back up at his window, seemingly just as far away as the ground, and swallowed. He wasn’t sure he could go back up the way he came, but there was nowhere else to go except down. Making up his mind, he lay flat on his stomach on the wide branch, easing his legs over as far as they would go until he dangled over emptiness. Closing his eyes, he let go.  
He landed with a small thump that seemed rather anticlimactic, all things considered. His hands stung and, as he sat up to investigate the damage, he saw that they were scraped and dirty from the tree branches, and a long scrape ran down the length of his right arm where he’d made contact with a hidden rock on the ground. He prodded the injury with one dirty finger, wondering if it would be worth the effort to cry. It didn’t hurt a great deal, and causing a fuss would only get him bundled back upstairs to bed.

“Why’d you fall out of the tree?”

Cas jumped, his attention flying from the wound on his arm to the corner of the house where a small, slightly grubby looking little girl stood, watching him. He’d been so intent on deciding just how injured he might be that he’d very nearly forgotten the reason he’d climbed the tree in the first place, and hadn’t even considered how much noise he must have made doing so. He lowered his arm to hide the damage as quickly as he could.

“Didn’t fall,” he said defensively. “I jumped.”

“Looked like you fell.”

Unwilling to justify himself a second time, he stood, grateful when his legs only barely shook. There was a small sting as his pajama pants pulled across his knees and he wondered if perhaps he should have checked them for injury as well. Scrapes aside, however, he seemed to be okay. He watched the girl carefully, taking a small step towards her. As he did so, she took a small step backwards.

Cas glanced back up at his window, surprised again by how far away it seemed from the ground. As far away as the moon, almost. How would he get back up there? He swallowed nervously. He had never been out this late. Never climbed down from the tree. The climb down had cost him some scrapes and bruises, what would it cost to get back up to his room? He couldn’t begin to imagine how he would accomplish that. The task was too large at present so he turned his full attention back to her. “I saw you playing,” he said finally, hoping that might explain things better. In case that didn’t seem like enough of a reason to shimmy down trees he added, “I wanted to play, too.” There was a slight pause, as he moved toward her work. “What are you doing?” The girl merely shook her head, taking another small step backwards, away from him.

“People aren’t supposed to talk to me.” She ducked her head slightly, the curtain her hair falling in stringy locks across her face as she glanced back up at him.

“Why not?”

“I’m a bad thing.”

Cas opened his mouth to argue, to tell her kids weren’t bad things, they couldn’t be. The flat certainty in her voice was confusing. It sounded altogether much to like his mother when she said he had to do something he didn’t want to, merely because it was good for him. Like bedtimes and broccoli, that was how she described herself, this strange girl. He wanted to tell her she was wrong, even though he didn’t know her. He didn’t need to, did he? But he never got the chance.

A sharp sound interrupted him, rusty hinges on a screen door, and the girl jumped backwards. The back door of her house had flown open and the woman Cas knew to be his neighbor came hurtling out of it, faster than he’d ever seen an adult move anywhere except television. She took one look at the two of them, and uttered a high pitched shriek that hurt his ears. He looked around frantically, thinking perhaps he should hide, but she was already moving in their direction. The woman scooped the little girl up to her chest roughly, small limbs sticking out at strange angles as she turned and ran back the way she had come. From behind her emerged a large man, the Daddy of this particular house, Cas supposed. The man stooped and hooked his hands under Cas’s arms, lifting him gently and without a word. The urge to squirm nearly overtook him. He did not like being lifted, particularly by a stranger, and he was almost certainly going to be in a great deal of trouble now. The thought made him shrink in on himself, cowering against the man as he was shifted against his side. They rounded the high privacy fence that divided their yards and walked calmly towards the front door of his house. He could still hear the television program his parents had been watching before he’d climbed out the window what seemed like hours ago.

The moments that followed all blended together a bit for Cas. Shouting was not a frequent occurrence in his house, and the reactions of his parents to his sudden appearance at their door elicited not only the expected anger, but also a great deal of fear that he had not been prepared for. He felt chagrined and, though he was not prone to being a very tearful child, he felt a wetness at his eyes and a lump in his throat born of confusion and embarrassment. He found himself, in what seemed like mere moments, bundled upstairs and back in bed. His hands stung from the quick scrub down he’d gotten, making them feel strangely worse than they had before. His mother had latched the window to avoid any further escape attempts and retired back downstairs. The soft rumble of adult voices was a comfort and a source of anxiety all in one. They were talking about him, he felt certain, but at least they weren’t yelling. It was very dark by the time he became calm enough to lay down, and still they talked. He was just beginning to doze, despite his best efforts, when the door slid open and a slice of light from the hallway roused him. His mother walked into the room, hands primly clasped in front of her, and her eyes on the carpet. She didn’t look up as she sat on the edge of his bed. He didn’t like the strange seriousness about her, and he sat up in bed, fixing her with a perplexed, and perhaps a slightly sulky look.

“Castiel, what you did tonight was very dangerous. You could have been very seriously hurt.” Cas hung his head, looking down at the blue patterned blanket with it’s covering stars and planets. He picked at a loose thread unhappily. His parents had yelled at him, he could have been hurt...this was all so much more serious than he’d thought it would be.

“I just wanted to play with the little girl. How come she gets to play outside when I have to go to bed?” His voice turned petulant and he felt the distinct urge to cry creeping up on him again. He didn’t like the way his mother wouldn’t look at him. He glanced up at her, his expression pleading. Even in the darkness, he could see her face tighten.

“The little girl you saw is very sick. She wasn’t supposed to be out at all, her parents thought she was in bed just like you.” She tried to smile, but it didn’t seem real, and he didn’t trust it.

“She didn’t look sick.”

“Well…” His mother sighed, edging further onto his bed and gathering him up close against her side. He took comfort in the closeness, snuggling in against her warm body and pressing his face against her side. “Sometimes people who are sick don’t look like they are from the outside. Sometimes it’s inside them, and they can look perfectly normal to you or me. I don’t want you sneaking over into their yard anymore, okay? If you see her outside, you come tell me right away so I can tell her parents. We have to look out for her, you and me, okay?” She looked down at him and, this time, her smile seemed more genuine.

Cas thought for a moment, the gravity of the situation sinking in. She needed someone to protect her. Parents were supposed to watch over their children but clearly she needed more than just that. “Okay,” he said, nodding slowly as the weight of this important responsibility settled onto his small shoulders. “I can look out for her.”

“That’s my sweet boy,” she said, giving him a squeeze and leaning down to kiss him on the top of the head. As she pulled away, he clutched at a trailing edge of her sleeve, feeling sheepish, but also a little frantic at the same time.

“I dropped Brown Dog out the window.”

“I’ll get him for you. Now you go to sleep.” She kissed him again, and drifted out into the hall, leaving the door cracked just enough that a sliver of light cut through the room, keeping the darkness at bay.

A minute passed. Perhaps two. He was just beginning to wonder if he would be able to stay awake long enough for his mother to bring the toy back to him or if he would succumb to sleep before she could find it when the window slid open. It was almost noiseless, but not entirely. There was no squeak as when he’d attempted his escape, but the rattle of glass was enough to rouse him. Cas sat up quickly, a mixture of alarm and curiosity chasing away his drowsiness. His mother had locked the window. He’d seen her. A small weight settled on the edge of his bed and, just visible in the light from the door, he could make out the shape of her profile. The girl from the yard. She held something out to him in the dark and he reached for it automatically, his hands closing over Brown Dog’s familiar snout. He drew the toy to his chest and hugged it tight, automatically.

“You dropped him,” she said, unnecessarily.

Cas held the small dog up, squinting at him in the half light, face scrunched up in thought. He was relieved to have Brown Dog back, but the feeling was dwarfed by his surprise. Surprise at her presence. At the strange way she’d entered his room. He studied the large, patched face of his old friend for a long moment and then, without hesitation, he thrust the toy back towards her. “You should keep him. I like Cat better.” Her face fell minutely and he fumbled to right the wrong. “Thank you for getting him.” He leaned forward, wanting her to know he meant it. He was intensely relieved to have Brown Dog back, and grateful, but if she was sick then he wanted to do something nice for her. She should have a friend to watch her since he couldn’t all the time. “He fell down so far. He could have been hurt.” He parroted his mother’s words at her, hoping they were the right ones. Hoping she understood. Her hand closed around one floppy paw, drawing the toy out of his grip, and Cas beamed.

“You fell down, too.”

“I didn’t fall,” he defended himself again, a touch more forcefully this time, now that he was no longer taken by surprise.

“Did you get hurt?”

He hadn’t been hurt, at least not in his opinion, but the sting was still there. He held his arm out in answer, turning it so she could see the long scrape along the outside. She set Brown Dog down and leaned over his arm, not really touching him, merely looking.

“Does it hurt?”

“Didn’t till it got all clean,” he said, a note of sulkiness working its way into his voice. He’d been trying to be so brave, and then soap had gotten involved.  
She poked at him and he did his best not to flinch. Her fingertips trailed along the length of the scrape making him wince. A slight tingly sensation went up and down his arm, but it disappeared quickly. It felt a lot like when his arm fell asleep if he laid on it funny, but it faded as he gave it an experimental shake. The scrape was still there, but it didn’t burn as much. She turned over one of his hands and prodded his palm as well, then moved on to the next. By the time she was finished, both his arms felt vaguely numb, but much better than they had before.

“That better?”

“Yes.” It was a simple answer to a simple question about something he hadn’t any hope of understanding. What had she done? He wasn’t sure. He only knew that he felt better. Weariness was settling over him as he watched her, the events of the day quickly beginning to catch up with him and his eyelids began to droop as he watched her. He was up so much later than he normally was. He’d climbed a tree. He’d been yelled at by strange people and his parents. Cas sagged back against his pillows, fingers curling around the edges of his blanket as his eyelids began to droop. He should thank her, he thought. But no thanks came. “What’s your name?”

“Meg.” She didn’t ask for his.

“Are you sick?” His mother had said she was, and that meant she had to be. But she looked fine to him. Nothing wrong with her at all.

“No, I’m not sick.” She picked up Brown Dog again, looking into his shiny plastic eyes for a long moment before nodding. Cas struggled to stay awake, he still had questions after all.

“Then why are you a bad thing?” Already half asleep, he wasn’t sure if he’d asked, or simply thought about asking. He thought he saw her shrug.

“I just am.”

“No.” But he had nothing else left to argue with. His eyes closed and he barely felt it as her weight shifted off the foot of the bed. He dozed, not sure if she had left, and unable to check. A soft bit of fur brushed against his face and he reached automatically to grab whatever it was. Cat. She must have plucked her from the windowsill.

“Can I come back later?” Her voice was barely a whisper, so close she must have been right at the edge of his bed. He wanted to check, but his eyes had other ideas and remained closed. “When you’re alone and we can play, can I come back?”

The ghost of a smile pulled at his face, already slack with sleep as he lost his hold on consciousness. He had just enough in him to nod before he lost the battle and drifted off. He didn’t even hear her close the window behind her as she left.

When Cas woke in the morning, it was to find Brown Dog missing, his window firmly latched, and a long pink patch of skin on his arm where the scrape had been. It wasn’t gone, exactly, but it was so much better, and it didn’t hurt at all now. He hugged Cat to his small chest and waited for his mother to come up and get him for breakfast.


	2. Chapter One

**  
**

 

The wind blew through her window in quick gusts, bringing with it flurries of snow that collected on the sill. Her curtains billowed, letting light sporadically into her room as Meg sat, cross legged, on her small bed. It was the same bed she’d had when her parents had moved her here, too short now, but only barely. She wasn’t destined to be tall, it seemed, and that, she supposed, was a blessing. At least in this case. The white paint on the bed frame was peeling in several places, showing flimsy wood beneath, and the mattress squeaked when she moved. Across the room sat a small vanity of the same stock, with peeling paint on the too small chair. The room was otherwise unfurnished, but she’d never felt the lack. Not really, anyway. She didn’t consider it to be her room and never had. The lock on the door was enough to prevent any cozy notions she might have had about this place, even as a child.

Heavy and iron, the lock looked out of place in the otherwise modern door. It looked as though it would have been more at home in a castle. Or, more aptly, a dungeon. Even from across the room, the smell of it was strong and sharp and made her feel ever so slightly nauseous. Meg avoided getting close to it as much as possible and, the few times she’d attempted to use her powers to unlock it, she’d been forced to retreat with scorched fingers and wounded pride. How her parents had discovered that lock, she didn’t know. But it was more effective at keeping her in than their threats ever had been.

The silence was broken by a loud squeak as the window across the fence was slid open and Meg lept off the bed in a screech of protesting springs. Once upon a time she would have spent the whole day in the cozy house next door, waiting for Cas to get home, to bring her something to eat and a book to read, but they’d had too many close calls recently. His mother’s schedule had shifted, leaving her home during the day and away most nights, which left her ample time to “clean” his room. Meg watched her through the window sometimes, wondering what she was looking for as she rooted through his drawers and under his bed. He was a dream for any parent, as far as she could see. Other kids their age, teetering on the cusp of adolescence, had started to shift in the past year or so. She watched them from her window. Every now and then, when she was feeling bolder, or while Cas was at baseball, or swim team, or whatever else his parents pushed him into, she would shimmy down the tree outside her window and follow them. Watch them. They were walking piles of hormones, it seemed, hiding behind trees to steal kisses or run their hands over bodies barely developed enough to be noteworthy. Meg felt a stir of jealousy towards them, more than once. For their freedom. For their innocence. For their love, or whatever hesitant motions they equated with that. All things that were impossible for her, and likely always would be.

But now Cas was home.

The tree between their houses had shed its leaves some weeks earlier, leaving it bare and naked to the elements. Snow had been falling lightly, but persistently, since early morning, leaving a thin crust of unbroken white on the branches that separated her from him. Her bare feet sank into the snow, leaving perfect little indentations without slips or stumbles. She didn’t feel the cold. She rarely did. Slipping smoothly across the wide branches, she slid into his room through the open window with the ease of long practice.

He waited for her, just inside his room, with a small, happy smile. The way his expression softened when he saw her, and the way his shoulders eased, always hit her, right in the chest. An almost physical blow. She wondered if he realized how much tension he carried every day, or if he knew how easily he set it aside for her. Cas reached forward to help her through the window, as he always did, though she never needed it. Instead, she let him take her hand as slid off the sill and onto the soft carpet of his room. His hand tightened around hers as she stepped through and he gave her a quick glance up and down. She was used to the inspection, but it still amused her. When they’d been younger, he’d watched her every move, fascinated by her in a way she might have found flattering had they been older. Now, it was so common she almost didn’t notice. He let go of her a little too quickly, something he’d been doing that a lot lately, it seemed, and she wasn’t sure why, though she did have suspicions. Ideas that had formed on her long afternoons spying on his classmates. But it was merely a reaction, she reasoned, to her closeness. It wasn’t about her, personally, and so she let it go.

“You’re late,” she groused, digging her toes into the carpet as the snow clinging to them melted.

“I’m early,” he corrected, still watching her.

“Yeah, why is that?” she asked, flopping down onto his bed in an artless sprawl. Unlike her room, his had grown and matured with him over the years. The stars on the ceiling had remained, but now they were ordered, each in it’s appropriate constellation over her head, just visible against the white paint. His patterned bedspreads had been replaced by dark blues and his bed had grown from a twin to a full, much to both their relief. A telescope stood in one corner by his desk. The room wasn’t overly adorned, but they both liked it that way. Where her room was stark, his was simply...well...simple.

“I quit swim team.” He knelt at the foot of the bed, reaching beneath it for the screwdriver he kept hidden there. She watched as he worked it under the edge of the loose floorboard by his desk. “Now I don’t have to practice all night.”

Meg made a noncommittal noise and turned her attention back to the stars overhead. She wasn’t surprised by the news, not exactly, merely that it had come so quickly. She’d thought he’d try a bit longer. Usually when his parents pressed him into a new sport, he’d at least try it for a full season. The varsity swim team had only been practicing for a little over a month with the opening of the new indoor pool. She hadn’t had high expectations for this particular sport though. The water would have been enough of a hurdle, but it was more than that. It was a great deal of public nudity, or near enough to it, and Castiel was not a boy that enjoyed showing skin. Layers were his friends, and always had been. Even now, he wore a zip up hoodie over his t-shirt, despite the warmth of the room.

“Did you want to change?” he asked, pulling up the floorboard and setting it carefully aside. She tried not feel self conscious. Her clothes were spotty and ill fitting and had been for years. Her wardrobe had never been exactly high on her parents list of priorities and, for quite some time now, the majority of her clothes had been hand me downs from him. T-shirts he outgrew were always welcome, but the pants had become a problem in the past year. He’d managed to snag her a couple pairs of yoga pants from the laundry, but they’d belonged to his mother and were much too long for her. She’d cut them off at the calf, making them at least halfway decent capris.

Reaching into the empty space below the floor, Cas started fishing out her things. That little space, one tiny cavity beneath his floor, not only represented the limits of her freedom, but also the depth of his concern for her. It held all her worldly possessions, or at least the ones that couldn’t be explained if his parents found them. Notebooks, journals, and sketchbooks took up most of the space, along with a box of pens and pencils. There was a clutch of paint brushes, kept meticulously clean, and a box of pastels. She didn’t use them as much as she used to, but he kept them for her all the same. The real trouble was in her paintings. There was simply no place to easily store them and there were already several taking up the far end of the cavity, in tight rolls. There were also necessities, like her toothbrush, hairbrush, clean pairs of underwear in a plastic baggy, a box of tampons and a pack of panty liners. He’d brought them home without comment one afternoon after a particularly enlightening health class, and now kept them well stocked, just in case. And there, tucked in the back, one very well loved stuffed dog. It was missing an eye these days, and could probably use a little extra stuffing. The first gift he’d ever given her, and therefore the most important.

“Yeah. Sure.” she hopped off the bed with affected nonchalance and walked over to his closet. Neither of their parents knew about the things he did for her, and that was, as far as Meg was concerned, best for everyone. And so they hid her clothes, as much as they hid her other belongings. They were rolled up carefully in his sleeping bag, wrinkly when they came out but clean and fresh, which was more than she could say about her current attire. She knelt down to unroll the bag and retrieve her things, glancing self consciously over her shoulder at him as she did so. He wasn’t watching, but she felt his awareness, all the same, more real, more tangible, than having his eyes on her.

Things had been getting...stranger...and she thought she might know why. When they’d been children, they’d shared a bed nearly every night, curled up in the nest of his blankets. She’d felt warm and safe and those feelings would always been tied up with him now, no matter how much changed...and things certainly had. It had started not long after he’d turned thirteen. She’d watched his party in the backyard of his house from her little window, wanting nothing more than to climb down and join him, but knowing she couldn’t. That night, when she’d slipped over to his room, he’d had cake for her. Yellow cake with thick chocolate icing, and he’d teased her about the way it had clung to her lips. Such a wonderful memory. One of her most cherished. But the next morning...that was the start of things changing. Normally, they had slept very close. But not that morning. She’d awoke to find him curled on his side of the bed, turned away from her, his body tense. He had been hiding something and she had been a little afraid of what it might be. The idea of him pulling away from her was nothing short of terrifying.

But she had been a child then, and though he’d always shared what he knew with her, she had still been very naive about a great many things. Years of observing his classmates had taught her more than she cared to know about boys, and their reactions to girls. But not once had he ever mentioned the awkwardness of the situation. He never reached for her the way the other boys reached for their girls. He never tried to hold her hand. He never tried to kiss her. It was only a physical reaction, nothing more. It had to be. Otherwise, what in the Hell was he waiting for?

A test, perhaps. Meg tugged her shirt over her head without bothering to seek privacy, something she had never done before. She wore no bra, as she’d never felt the need, and the cool air from the window hit her skin like a kiss. Generally, they were very guarded with their nudity, as she’d taken her cues from him. But now? She lingered. Cas went suddenly still behind her, the silence abrupt. He took a small gasping breath. Meg turned her head towards him, but he was already shifting away, his back resolutely to her. He seemed to be slipping something into his pocket but she couldn’t tell what it might be. Shrugging, she fished out one of his old t-shirts and a pair of her pants, changing into them without comment. Well, that answered that, she supposed. She didn’t think it had anything to do with her, personally. Not really. It was merely her body. His reaction was only physical, and natural if the other boys his age where any sort of guide. But she felt better, just knowing.

“Tell me you didn’t bring homework,” she groused as he fished out her belongings. When they’d been younger, she’d soaked up everything he’d brought her. His workbooks had been copied, word for word, in her small, childish script, into little notebooks that could be secreted away to her own room for further study. These days? She was less keen. They still did homework together, but she felt less enthralled by learning as she had when she was younger. She didn’t like the structure of it, and neither did he. Most nights, they wandered so far from the subject matter that they were barely able to finish his actual homework before his parents called lights out.

“I did not.” He glanced up at her, expression blank with no hint of what he might have been thinking just moments before. “Our history report is due next week, however.”

“Did you bring me anything?” Meg flopped onto the bed artlessly, propping herself up on one elbow to look at him. It wasn’t really a question, merely a lead in. He always had presents for her. She’d have considered herself quite spoiled if it wasn’t for the utter lack of anything else in her life. He glanced up at her, seemingly surprised by the question.

“Oh. I forgot,” he said, a little too lightly. She chuckled softly to herself as he dug into his school bag and pulled out a magazine. Teen People. Her favorite. She snatched it up eagerly without even pausing to thank him and fell backwards onto the bed to read.

There was an art to reading trash. Meg had perfected it over the years, with little else to do. First, and foremost, there was so much to look at. She liked nothing more than to thumb through the glossy pages, taking in the bright smiling faces and new fashion trends, half of which looked so utterly ridiculous she couldn’t help but be amused by them. Teen fashion always seemed to be perpetually trying to cling to some decade it had no way of understanding, leaving the poor models looking either frumpy and clownish, or anorexic and...well...clownish. There was so much color and business that the first pass through always amounted to little more than color and movement in her mind’s eye.

The bed sagged beside her as Castiel set down on the edge, close enough that his hip touched hers. As she lowered the magazine, she found herself looking up at him as he leaned over her, awkwardly close, but she didn’t move away.

“Meg…”

“Cas.” One eyebrow rose quizzically as she looked at him.

“Happy Birthday…” He held out a small white box to her, his eyes falling to it as the corners of his mouth turned up just enough for her to know he was smiling. Meg pushed herself up, her expression warry.

“Birthday, Cas? Seriously?” She didn’t reach for the box, but oh how she wanted to.

Cas gave a slight shrug, glancing up at her as he ducked his head self consciously.

“You’ve never had a birthday. It’s important. A day of significance. You should be able to celebrate that day, even if you don’t know when it is.”

Meg gave a short snort of derision, eyeing the box. “I don’t think anyone has ever celebrated my existence, Cas.”

“I do.”

She looked up at him, pinned by his gaze. So hopeful and soft and everything that was him tied up in one simple expression. “Damn it,” she muttered. “I’ve told you it’s not fair when you look at me like that.”

Cas ducked his head again, clearly pleased. Smug son of a bitch. Meg sighed and reached for the box, pulling the lid open with a slight squeak of glossy cardboard. Inside, nestled securely on a fuzzy little base, was a silver charm bracelet with a single charm. It was a red rose, stark against the white background. The clasp that held it to the bracelet was ornamented with tiny, filigree thorns.

“I thought it suited you.”

Meg sat very still, looking down on the tiny, fragile little thing. Castiel had given her many presents over the years. He kept her in clothes and food. He gave her books and magazines, paper and paint. He let her sleep in his bed and he kept her safe when the barren walls of her tiny universe seemed to be closing in on her. But he’d never given her something like this. It was useless, really. It wasn’t something she could eat. She couldn’t create anything with it. It wouldn’t keep her warm in winter or entertain her on long days while she waited for him to come home. It served no purpose whatsoever. Frivolous. And pretty. And he was giving to her. She traced one finger carefully over the small, curled petals of the rose.

“Do you like it?” His voice sounded strained, worried, and she glanced up to see those concerned blue eyes focused on her again.

There wasn’t a reason to do what she did next. Not really. There’d never been a reason. And, once she’d begun, she realized that maybe there had never been a need for one. Meg reached for him with one hand, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt the better to pull him to her. Their lips met and she had the briefest moment to wonder why they hadn’t been doing this all along before all thought was lost completely. She’d never kissed a boy before. Never been kissed by one in return. On TV it always looked so passionate. A clashing of two people filled with too much emotion to be contained. His classmates, she’d found, had less artistry. They were less a clashing of emotions and more a rather unpleasant mixture of hesitance, awkward pawing, and saliva. But this kiss was neither of those things. At least, it didn’t feel like either to her. It was simple, and sweet, but it did not stay that way.

Cas was stiff, surprise keeping him from reacting to her as quickly as he might have in other situations. He’d never been kissed before either, of that she was certain. He’d have told her. Wouldn’t he? Surely he would have. He was her only real link to the outside world and they had no secrets. Save one...but it was one she didn’t even fully know herself so how could she share it with him? The thought soured the moment, and she hated herself just a little bit. Reluctantly, she pulled away, the smallest gap forming between them, the touch of his lips centimeters...no...miles away.

She felt, rather than saw, Cas shake his head, minutely. The tiniest move from left to right as his arms wove around her and pulled her back to him. He kissed her, and it was not hesitant. It was not even sweet. There was a desperation in the way he kissed her that seemed unlike him, and yet utterly perfect on him at the same time. His lips were soft against hers, but they moved with urgency as the kiss grew deeper. Little gasps of breath escaped them both...breathing each other in. It might have gone on for barely a minute...it might have been a year...she had no concept of time. His hands were in her hair and hers twisted in his shirt, almost as though afraid he might pull away and force her to drag him back. But he didn’t. He only held on tighter.

Somewhere down below, a door slammed. They sprang away from each other as though scalded, both looking towards the door to his room in surprise. No one should have been home that early.

“Sweetie, are you home?” His mother’s voice drifted up the stairs, and Meg’s eyes widened. She turned back to him in momentary confused panic.

“Go!” he hissed, pushing himself quickly off the bed and rushing towards the loose floorboard. He fit it back into place quietly and hurried to the door, the better to intercept his mother. “I’m home!” he called, opening his door carefully so she would not hear the lock jangling in its base. Already they could hear the creak of the stairs as she climbed towards them. Meg launched herself across the small gap between the window and his bed, landing soundlessly on the wood, her feet never touching the floor. She looked back at him, looking for some kind of answer to what had just happened. Some acknowledgement. Something...

Cas looked back at her, expression unreadable. Or at least, almost. The slightest glimpse of teeth, something that was almost a smile, and he was turning to leave the room. Leaving, Meg noted, without bothering to straighten his hair or rumpled t-shirt. Silly boy. She’d be in there searching his closet for girls almost immediately. All the more reason to not be found at the scene of the crime. Meg slipped out onto the tree branch the rose beside his window, her feet slipping ever so slightly in the powdery snow as she hurried back to her own window. She’d come back later, after his parents went to sleep, as she did most nights. And perhaps then she’d have an answer for why that thought made her heart race and her cheeks flush when it never had before.

 

* * *

 

Castiel lay in bed listening to the television downstairs, certain it was never going to turn off. His parents rarely stayed up so late, and yet they seemed hell bent on watching the sun rise on the one night when he most wanted them to go to sleep. Meg wouldn’t come back until their lights went off. After one too many near misses, they’d both agreed it was safer. And now? After this afternoon? His mother had taken one look at him and put on a face that was so unimpressed he had to wonder just how long she’d been waiting for that moment. She’d torn through his room, searching his closet and even under his bed, sure he was hiding someone. But Meg’s window was closed, and the curtain was drawn. She had no reason to suspect who might really have been there. It didn’t stop her from lecturing him, though. Or giving him a far too graphic talk about the dangers of unprotected sex. He’d come to bed frustrated and red in the face, and he’d been waiting ever since.

At least he had plenty to occupy his mind. So much so, in fact, that it was difficult to focus on any one thing. There were so many small details that he wanted to hold up and examine that he found himself fumbling with them, moving too fast from one to the other and never giving any one of them the attention that he wanted to. There was the smoothness of her lips...how soft they were when they pressed against his, even when their kisses became harder, more demanding. They had still been soft. Then there was her hair, sliding between his fingers as his hands cradled her head, smelling faintly of the shampoo he’d bought for her, kept safely with the rest of her things beneath his floor. But more than anything else, he remembered her hands. Her hands on him.

It had always been her. As long as he could remember, it had always been her. She was the one he thought of every night as he fell off to sleep, with her warm presence at his side. And she was the first one he thought of when he woke up, reaching for her instinctively as he would the comfort of a toy when he was young. Now, he wasn’t sure what it was he was reaching for. The idea of “her” was too complex to be compared to anything else. As adolescence had settled in, she had been the one to visit him in dreams, leaving him awkward and embarrassed, curled away from her in the morning, hiding from her so she didn’t see. But, as much as he had always reached for Meg, he had never done so with any sort of intent or hope. It wasn’t that he thought nothing would ever come of it. No, not that. It was merely that there were more important things about being with her. Just having her there was everything to him, and always had been. She was so very special, and yet she had no one. No one save him. Sometimes the weight of that responsibility was nearly enough to crush him, when she came to him with bruises or cuts that she refused to explain. She was so like her paintings. Such beautiful things, rolled so tight and hidden away where no one could see them. No, he’d never even turned his hope in the direction of that vague “more.” What she gave him was more than he deserved, and what he gave back was never going to be enough.

She would come back. Of course she would come back. How could she not after what had happened? And yet, Cas found himself watching the window, worried. Girls had tried for his attention on more than one occasion. All in all, he had gotten more or less used to it, the the familiarity with which they reached out to touch him sometimes made him cringe. He tried not to let them see. But he never cringed when Meg touched him. And now, more than ever, he wanted to feel that touch, even if it was only innocent. Even if she crawled into bed beside him with nothing on her mind but sleep, he wanted her to come. But quietly, in the back of his mind, for the first time in his life, he hoped for more.

Downstairs, the TV shut off, and Cas closed his eyes, listening. He tried not to count the seconds as they slipped by, listening to his parents milling around down below. Two minutes to put away their things. One to shuffle back and forth. To turn off the light. The third stair creaked slightly as his mother made her way upstairs, then louder as his father followed. His heart was beating faster in his chest, making his wrists and ears throb. The only sign of his growing excitement. The door to his parents room shut and he opened his eyes, turning back towards the window. There on the opposite side of the fence, he could see the light from their window reflected on the house next door. And there, in the window, he could just barely see her. Almost as though she’d heard what he heard, and knew they didn’t have much longer to wait. Was she as excited as he was? Had she also been counting the minutes?

The light clicked off and she was at his window, disappearing from her own between one blink and the next. She eased the old window open silently, bringing with her gust of cold wind that sliced through the room and raised gooseflesh on his arms. He sat up slowly, watching her, waiting. He wanted to say something to her, but what was there to say? What questions could he ask? He watched her as she hesitated, one bare foot dangling down towards the floor as she clung to the windowsill, looking as though she might bolt back through it given half the chance.

Cas reached for her. There wasn’t thought behind the gesture. There wasn’t desire. Some part of him had always been reaching for her, and would reach for her until the day he died.

Meg fell into his arms, bringing with her the warmth of her body and the chill of the outside, the window still standing open behind her. But he didn’t feel the cold. All he could feel was the heat of her skin through the thin clothes she wore, and the warmth of her breath, so close to this lips.

“Tell me something,” she said, her voice hiding a laugh at some joke he was not privy to. “Tell me how long you’ve been waiting for this.”

“Always.”

She chuckled softly against him, the sound getting lost as her lips found his. He reached to hold her close, almost instantly losing her as she pulled back again.

“Just want you to know. We could have been doing this so long now.” And she laughed again, hovering so close that her lips brushed his as she spoke.

Cas made an almost grumbling sound in the back of his throat, neither willing to express disappointment nor negate the truth of her words. Perhaps they could have. But he didn’t think that this moment, whatever it might lead to, lessened the value of the days that came before. His hands settled firmly on her back and he pulled her closer, erasing the distance between them. He kissed her. And he kissed her again. He kissed her as though he never wanted to do anything else, and part of him truly didn’t. She was so yielding beneath him, in a way she never was in any other way. All her hard edges were rounded off as she sank against him, filling his arms and molding herself to his embrace. Her head tilted back as his fingers twined in her hair. For the span of a heartbeat, she was utterly his. And, in the span of the next, he was hers.

Her kiss turned aggressive. Teeth grazed his lower lip, sinking in lightly and moving on. Meg pushed herself against him, no longer conforming to his touch, but demanding it to move with her. To her. Cas found himself pushed back onto the mattress, her weight settling over him, without realizing he had moved at all. His hands moved freely over her sides and back as her hair swung down to brush his cheek. The edge of her shirt rode high and the brush of his fingers on bare skin sent an almost electric shock through him, making him gasp against her mouth.

Meg pulled away from, sitting upright, leaving him breathless. The window still stood open, filling the room with chilly air, but he didn’t feel cold. Her weight settled firmly against his lap and he felt a slight heat come into his cheeks. He wanted her, had always wanted her, but his body had a much more obvious way of telling her so. A way that was impossible for either of them to ignore, now that she was there, pressed against him. In the past, he had always hidden his reactions to her closeness, but now there was no real need, nor any desire to do so. Cas’s hands rested lightly on her hips, looking up at her in the dim light from the window, and thought she’d never looked more beautiful.

Wordlessly, Meg reached for the hem of her shirt, arms crossed in front of her as she grasped the edges and pulled it upwards. The old t-shirt, soft and pliant from long use, slid easily over her head as she ducked down, keeping it gathered in front of her. He’d seen naked women before. Television and movies did nothing to hide the female form from even the youngest viewers these days, it seemed. But that slight hint of mystery that still lingered about her was enough to make his mouth go dry. She sat over him, long hair tumbling down over her bare shoulders, with a nothing but a drape of old t-shirt covering her.

“So beautiful…” Cas said quietly. The light filtering in from outside, through the branches of the tree that had so long been their path to each other, covered her skin in dappled light and shadow that moved with the wind outside. He slid his fingers upwards, over the curve of her hips and onto her pale skin. He chased the shadows across her stomach, hands sliding ever upwards, beneath the cover her shirt. She’d never felt so soft.

Meg leaned down to kiss him, letting go of her shirt the better curl around him. And, for a little while at least, they didn’t need to say anything at all.

 

* * *

 

Cas lay on his back, one arm behind his head, looking up at the stars that covered his ceiling. He knew each constellation by name but, as he looked up at them now, he could no longer see them. He saw new images in the stars, shapes that had never been there before. There, the hard edge of her smile. There, the soft curve of her breast. And there, the bright sharpness of her eyes. She was written in the heavens above him, false as they were. But they were real enough for him. As real as the girl tucked into his side, drawing little circles on his chest with the tip of her finger.

“So I guess that’s what all the fuss is about,” she said in a slow, languid drawl that told him more about her state of mind than her words ever could. He smiled. A real smile that he didn’t seem able to contain just at that moment. He pulled her in a little tighter, enjoying the feel of her bare skin under his palm.

Cas merely nodded, though he wasn’t sure if she could see him do so or not. There were no words he felt the need to speak. Nothing to tell her, save perhaps one thing. She’d already told him everything he needed to know without uttering a single word. He turned towards her and kissed the top of her head, breathing in the scent of her shampoo and the indescribably, almost smoky scent that was simply her.

“I love you,” he said simply, without frills or expectations. Because he did, and there was no longer any reason to deny it.

“Shut up,” she grumbled, but there was a smile in her voice. “Sap.”

Chuckling quietly, Cas turned towards her, gathering her in against his chest and burying his face in her hair. He drifted off to sleep feeling, for the first time in his life, as though the small part of him that has always seemed so broken had finally been mended.


	3. Chapter Two

**  
**

 

The sun wasn’t up yet. There was still time. Meg watched him, in the dark, seeing more than just his sleeping form. Her eyes traced the curve of his jaw and it’s light dusting of pale stubble. He’d have to start shaving in earnest soon. His chest rose and fell in the steady rhythm of sleep, his head turned towards her and the passage of his breath light on her face. Her hand rested on the softness of his stomach. For all the sports his parents pushed him into, he never spent enough time with any to really develop much in the way of muscle. He was strong...so strong. But he was soft as well. Sighing contentedly, Meg rolled onto her back, careful not to disturb him, and stared up at the ceiling, lost in thought. She fixed her eyes on the fake stars there, long since out of light. But she could still see them glowing faintly, the same as she she could see him through the darkness. Her eyes were always better at night.

“The better to see you, my dear,” she muttered sardonically, her lips twisting into a rye smirk.

The Big Bad Wolf. Apt comparison, she supposed, though she highly doubted she was going to start donning old lady nighties anytime soon. But still, the image lingered. She glanced back at Cas, sleeping peacefully beside her, and wondered if he realized the monster he let into his bed every night. And now...after this…

She turned away again, guilt ridden and unable to look at him. It wasn’t the act itself that bothered her, oh no far from it. It was the simple fact that she didn’t regret it that bothered her the most. How could she regret something so perfect? Her entire life, there had been exactly one person she’d cared about. Only one. How could she regret being with him, in any capacity? Perhaps it was because he loved her, but he’d always loved her, hadn’t he? Since they were kids. He’d fed her, clothed her, kept her warm and as safe as he could even when he was nothing more than a child himself. If that wasn’t love, then what was?

The real question was...did she love him back? Her mind shied away from the question, instinctively. She didn’t know how to love. That was the easy answer. Who had been there to love her and teach her how, after all, except for him? But it didn’t matter. None of that mattered. She wasn’t human.

Meg closed her eyes, feeling a slight sting of tears at the corners, tears she refused to let free. Ever. The moment she cried was the moment she admitted she needed to, and if she did that she might never stop. But the truth was there: She wasn’t human. Human beings couldn’t see in the dark. They couldn’t walk barefoot through the snow. They couldn’t heal wounds or lift things with their mind. They didn’t get burnt by metal locks and they most certainly did not get locked up by their parents, the two people in the whole world who are supposed to love you no matter what. That wasn’t something humans were supposed to do.

Cas shifted quietly in his sleep and rolled towards her, murmuring her named. Meg turned into his embrace, tucking her head beneath his chin and sighing. She still had time, but not much. And it was slipping away with every second. Did she love him? She pressed a small kiss his collarbone and another to the tip of his chin. The corners of his lips pulled up, ever so slightly, and he smiled in his sleep, even as she pulled away. Most mornings, he woke when it was time for her to go, at least enough to say goodbye. He never slept so well as when she was there. Tonight, however? That sleep shouldn’t end with the discomfort of a goodbye. He looked far too peaceful...too happy… He stirred, nearly rising to the edge of wakefulness, and Meg reached out to touch him. She trailed the tip of her finger down his forehead, just once, and he sank back into slumber. She didn’t enjoy using her power on him, but this trick...it was the exception. It had been among the first things she’d ever learned to do, and she’d learned it for him. Sometimes he needed his sleep more than he needed her. And more than she needed him.

Her clothes lay in a jumbled pile beside the bed. Meg pulled them on quickly, feeling time getting away from her. She needed to be out before his parents woke up. Her luck would no doubt bring them right to the door to check on him on some unknown whim. The window opened soundlessly at her touch, but she hesitated, looking back at him. Everything was going to change now, and part of her was terrified by the prospect. Did she love him?

The branch outside the window was icy and slick, but she didn’t slide. Easing the window closed, she looked back at him one last time, a small smile forming on her lips. Meg edged close to the glass, cupping her hands around her mouth, and breathing out against the frosted window. Her breath formed a small clear spot, beaded with tiny drops of condensation. With the tip of her finger, she traced a heart. Already the glass was beginning to frost once more, but the heart stood out among the ice crystals. Pleased with herself, she turned away, moving back towards her own window. The feeling of dread that usually began to sink in right about now was noticeably absent. Not even the prospect of a day of gray walls and cold food pushed through the cat flap on her door could dampen her spirits. Whatever else she had to worry about, this place, that she mockingly called home, couldn’t touch her. Not today.

Her room was still dark as she slid through the window, but she wasn’t truly looking. Her gaze was turned inward as she replayed the night before, lingering over her favorite moments now that she was safely alone. Now that there was no one to see a betraying flicker of emotion on her face, she felt safer. So much of herself was hidden in locked rooms, she wasn’t entirely sure she’d ever be able to let anyone all the way in. Not even him. Not yet anyway. Perhaps when she was free of this place…

Blackness covered her and, for a moment, Meg was too shocked to react. Whatever had been pulled over her head was solid, and soft, and smelled faintly of her parents’ fabric softener. She gasped for air, both out of surprise and an instinctive, knee jerk reaction against the fabric covering her mouth as well as her eyes. Strong hands clamped onto her arms from behind, wrenching them backwards at an uncomfortable angle. Meg reacted without thought. Without a plan. She reached for power that had always been lurking but never truly tapped, and lashed out; in anger...in fear...in her own self defense. The hands holding her released and she heard a thud against the wall behind her, followed by a deep grunt that could only have come from her father.

“She cut me…” he said, voice shocked and breathless. “Bitch cut me.”

Meg reached for the edge of the sack that covered her face, fumbling to catch an edge and pull it free, panic making her clumsy. It clung like a living thing, sticking to her hair with static as her pulled, gathering handfuls of fabric and hair alike. She couldn’t see, and if she couldn’t see then she couldn’t defend herself. Couldn’t prepare for the physical impact of her mother’s body, nearly tackling her. Arms wrapped around her waist, carrying her to the ground, and pinning her left arm beneath her with an ominous crunch, but she didn’t feel any pain. Not yet, anyway. She swung wildly with her free arm, barely feeling the brush of her mother’s hair with her outstretched fingers, but the older woman cried out, all the same. Something warm and wet dripped onto the fabric over Meg’s face.

“Get them on her!” Her mother’s voice sounded thick and nasal, where it hadn’t before, but she didn’t let go. Meg reached again, closing her fist on empty air, squeezing when she felt resistance there despite her empty grip. A strangled sound came from overhead and she grit her teeth, preparing to push...to throw...she wasn’t sure. Was she killing her? Was she strangling the life from this person who should have been her mother and yet had never once lived up to the title? Her grip loosened barely a fraction, and the weakness galled her. With a nearly feral cry, she pushed, and the body pinning her down lifted off her, slamming into the opposite wall with a loud crash. Meg swung wildly, still in darkness, and felt her fist connect, physically, with some part of her father. What part, she couldn’t tell, but she felt it give beneath her blow and he stumbled away with a bellow of pain.

Scrambling, Meg found her feet. She reached for the corner of the pillowcase that covered her, more focused now, though only one arm seemed to be responding as it should. She pulled it free, a snarl on her lips as she took in the scene around her. Her mother was struggling to rise, half kneeling beside her bed across the room. Her father was sagged against the wall to her left, a large pair of iron manacles in one had. His other arm hung limp at this side, bowing strangely towards the elbow. His skin was pale and he gasped for breath, his eyes unfocused. She took her chance.

The window still stood open. Across that small gap lay the only freedom she had ever known. Meg lept up onto the sill her injured arm responding slowly, but at least it was responding. In the faint light before dawn, she could just see the frost covered glass on the other side of the fence. The tiny heart called to her. Cas was in that room. Cas would take her in and hide her. Cas…

Who was not a part of this…

Who didn’t believe she was what she said…

Who could be hurt so much easier than her…

Meg hesitated, and though it only lasted the span of two heartbeats, it was enough to doom her. With searing pain and the stink of burnt flesh, the iron cuffs were snapped shut around her wrists. The delicate silver bracelet she wore, with it’s perfectly formed little rose, caught and snapped clean off. The iron burned her skin, sending up little tendrils of smoke. She reached for that power, that force she didn’t understand and could barely control, but it was no longer there for her. It was just beyond her reach, no matter how she tried. She could feel it pushing away from her, from the manacles at her wrists, like two magnets facing each other away. The last thing she saw before darkness once again covered her eyes, was the barest hint of movement on the other side of the fence. Cas waking up… She wondered if he’d be able to forget her. Meg felt a sharp pain on the back of her head as something struck her, and then she knew no more.

 

* * *

 

No day had ever been as long as this one. Bad enough having to wake alone, necessary evil though it was, but then to have to endure an entire day of classes? It was nothing shy of torture. Cas had given up on focusing roughly around the time the first bell had rang, and instead spent most of his day looking for something he could do for Meg. Something to make up for a day spent alone. Options were limited, given his inability to leave school grounds, but a flash of mournful eyes directed at a kind hearted lunch lady had at least provided him with a slice of yellow cake. The icing was thin, and dotted with multicolored sprinkles, but it was something. He spent his lunch period industriously constructing a container to take it home in out of a pair of empty styrofoam cups.

At least he didn’t have swimming practice anymore. At least he could go straight home…

His room was dark and empty when he got home, but he hadn’t really expected otherwise. Setting his makeshift cake cup down on the corner of his desk, Cas hurried to the window. He paused there, a slight smile on his lips. He couldn’t see it anymore, but he knew it was there. His fingertip traced the edges of the heart she’d left him that morning. He’d awaken cold and lonely, so much more so than on other mornings, and turned his eyes to the window. There had been a bit of movement across the fence, drawing his eye. Perhaps it was Meg, sliding back into her own room. He’d pulled himself from bed and moved to the window to see her one more time before he had to start the day, but she was already gone. Her mark remained, and it had warmed him in the chilly emptiness of the room.

Cas slid open the window and waited expectantly. Any moment now, the window across the fence would open and she’d be coming to him. They had hours before his parents were supposed to be home. Hours that he’d bided his time waiting for all day. But the window did not open, and a worry line formed on his brow. It was possible, he supposed, that she was talking to her parents, and couldn’t sneak away. Or maybe she had taken a nap and would wake up any moment. He took a step back, leaving the window open, and sat down on the edge of his bed to wait.

An hour passed, and still she didn’t come. And still he didn’t move. She would come...she always came...but...what was taking so long? He moved back to the window, trying to peer into the darkness of the other house, to discern some hint of movement at the very least. But there was nothing. More worried than he had been before, he sat back down. She would come…

The sun dipped steadily towards the horizon and the shadows in his room got longer, and still he waited. Somewhere below, he heard the front door close and his mother call his name. Reluctantly, he stood, walking to his door as though lead weights tied him to the bed. He opened the door a crack, just enough to call down, only vaguely aware of what he was telling her. He didn’t feel well. He didn’t need dinner. Yes his homework was done and no he didn’t need anything. He was going to bed early. There was worry in his mother’s voice, but he barely took note of it. His own was far too all consuming to leave any room for hers. He sat back on the edge of the bed, resuming his silent vigil. She wouldn’t come now, not while his parents were home. But still, he found himself hoping she would break the rules just this once. Or, failing that, that he would catch some glimpse of her across the way. Some sign to know she was there, and that she was alright. But there was nothing. Absolutely nothing. The cold, dark square that was her open window remained empty.

Full dark settled in and Cas was no longer waiting for Meg to appear. Now he was waiting for his parents to go to bed. He sat still, in the same spot he’d occupied all afternoon. All evening. Straining to hear the television downstairs, waiting for the moment it would turn off. He briefly considered trying to sneak down to the basement to cut the power, thinking perhaps they’d assume it was a city problem, given how dark the house next door still seemed to be. He abandoned the idea for practical reasons. Even if he could manage to sneak past them and down into the basement, it was unlikely he’d make it back up in the dark without them catching him. And he doubted, once he thought the idea through fully, that his father would go to bed without at least checking the fuse box. So he waited, as he’d waited all day, so much more tense than he had been in class. So much more worried than he had been through the afternoon. By the time the TV shut off, Cas was sitting on a hair trigger. He counted their footsteps up the stairs and, before the sound of their door closing had even faded from the silent house, he was at the window.

Cas had never been to her side of the fence. He’d never even attempted to climb the tree, not since that first failed attempt. He’d never needed to. Now, he barely hesitated as he reached out to grasp the branch that for so many years had raked his window during every rain storm. Setting his feet on the branch below, he felt it sag under his weight, though he’d never seen it dip even once under hers. But he felt better. So much better than mere moments before. The branch swayed beneath him as he moved from the window to the trunk, and from the trunk to her window on the other side. The fall no longer frightened him, as it had when he was small. The blank emptiness of her room...that was what frightened him. That was what drove him across the gap to the place he’d been shut out of since he was six years old.

He was not prepared for what he saw as he stepped through that window.

For a long moment, Cas could do nothing but stand and stare, awash in not only horror but thick, choking guilt. For so long, there had been signs. He’d never had to question whether or not her home life was wrong, the evidence had been all around him. He’d thought he was helping her, taking care of her. He’d made her his responsibility so long ago that he had no conscious memory of actually making the decision. He was supposed to take care of her, so he brought her food and taught her to read and write. He let her play with his toys. He hid her beautiful creations under the floor of his room. But now, looking at those four gray walls, there was no escaping the fact that he had not done enough. He should have stopped this so long ago. Should have told his parents his fears, even if it meant losing her. Because that’s what would have happened, wasn’t it? If an adult, any adult, saw this, they would have to take her away. They would protect her so much better than he’d apparently done. Had it been selfishness that kept him quiet? No, he didn’t think so. Short sightedness, maybe. Willful ignorance. But he would not have kept her living like this if he had really taken the time to look. He couldn’t have. He had to believe that.

The fact remained, however, that he hadn’t looked. He hadn’t saved her, though he was likely the only one who might have been in a position to do so. He’d let this happen with his own inaction. Cas walked slowly around the small room, reaching out to touch things at random. There was so little really take in. Paint chipped away under even the lightest brush of his fingers across her bed frame. It was too small for her, tiny though she was. A small vanity sat opposite the bed, covered in a layer of dust. It looked as though it had been made for a child, not a young woman. There was no makeup scattered on top. No books or pictures to lighten the room. The blankets were threadbare and, if he hadn’t lived beside her for most of his life, he might have thought no one had been in this room for years. A decade or more at least. And yet this was where she spent every day, waiting for him. His heart sank still further, heavier than it had ever felt. All the paltry worries of his day to day life paled in comparison to what he’d left her in every day. This girl he claimed to love…

The door to the room stood open, and Cas paused beside it. His brow furrowed as he traced his finger lightly over the large, antique looking lock that had clearly been set into the much newer door at some point. Why would someone do that? Had the door come that way or had her parents installed it? Cas didn’t spend much time thinking about her differences. Her power. But now...he wondered. Perhaps she couldn’t open this lock. The implication him struck him in the chest just as his eyes fell to the small cat flap at the bottom of the door, confirming the horrible idea that had just come into his mind. He’d always assumed it was bad. That her home life wasn’t right. But he’d never guessed...never had the capacity to believe this kind of cruelty could exist. What parent would lock away their child like this? If she hadn’t had him...would she have ever even left this room? Would she even be alive right now? An unnamed dread followed that thought, but he refused to entertain it. There was no evidence that anything had happened to her, he had no reason to worry.

Except that what evidence there was made him question why her parents, after a lifetime of locking her away, would suddenly open the door. And, even more importantly, why would she leave without telling him? Particularly now…

Cas’s face was grim. He dithered on the threshold of the door, wanting to go looking. Wanting to find her. But what would he do if he did? Or, worse, what would he do if she wasn’t there? She wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye. She couldn’t. Could she? No. No, not after everything they’d been through together. She’d have left him some message, some note. None of this was right.

Somewhere outside, a branch snapped, and he turned so quickly his shoulder bumped into the door with a loud thump. He cringed, instantly afraid of waking anyone who might have been in the house, but he only had half his mind on that possibility. Was she coming back? Was that why she hadn’t been home...she was out somewhere else, doing something? She did occasionally sneak out, though he was never entirely sure how often it was or where she went. She could have been climbing up the tree that very moment. A new wave of guilt and embarrassment washed over him as he considered what her reaction might be to finding him in her room. No...he wouldn’t ever dignify this place with the title “room” again. This was her cell.

Cas had one foot on the windowsill when a flash of silver caught his eye. The light from outside didn’t do much to illuminate the room, but he could still see by it. Squinting in the darkness, he tried to see what had caused the small flash that had distracted him. Kneeling down, he put his fingers to hard floor, his fingers coming into contact with what felt like a small chain. Pulling it into the light, he held up the bracelet he had given her, one side crushed beyond all hope of repair, the links snapped in half, mangled, and useless.

This would not have happened by accident. That amount of damage...something had happened to her.

Suddenly, there didn’t seem to be much air in the room. Quickly, Cas counted backwards. Whatever had happened had to have been before he got home from school. That gave him a window of, at the very least, seven hours between then and now. Possibly more.

He was through the bedroom door and walking down the hall before he fully registered that he’d made the decision to move. The bracelet bit into his palm and he had to consciously tell himself to let go. Sliding the fragile, broken chain into his pocket, Cas paused outside a closed door across the hall. To his right was the bathroom, door standing open. That meant this room had to be her parents bedroom. He held very still, listening, but there was no sound inside. Cas put his hand on the doorknob and turned, wanting to be slow. Careful. But there was no time for either. The latch rattled, but still no sound came from the other side of the door. He pushed it open and looked inside.

It was just a room.

Cas stood there, taking in the nondescript walls and the light brown bedspread with a mixture of frustration and no small amount of anger. It didn’t seem right for such a normal, everyday bedroom to sit across the hall from that prison cell. How could they sleep in here with their daughter locked up like an animal just a few feet away? Cas clenched his jaw, but forced himself to move. There was no desk in the room. Barely even a bedside table to speak of. There was nothing for him to find in there. He shut the door a bit too forcefully, the bang resounding in the quiet house and he froze, angry with himself. But still...nothing moved. The house must truly be empty.

Feeling more confident, Cas took off down the stairs, moving fast enough that he nearly stumbled on the last step. The first floor was laid out very like his own house, and the realization gave him, if nothing else, some direction. He turned at the bottom of the stairs, heading for the back of the house. If it was really the same, there would be an office. Whether or not they used it for that he didn’t know, but if they did, it seemed like as good a place as any to look for some kind of clue as to where they might have gone. What they might have done. The door was closed, but he reached for the knob with confidence. The door wouldn’t budge. Panic, which had already been bubbling so close to the surface, finally began to boil over. For all he knew, they kept it locked to protect the good china. But he doubted it. He couldn’t take a locked door in this house, after what he’d seen upstairs, as anything other than a sign of something truly terrible. Panic...and something so much hotter. The secrets in this house that had gone on for so long...they burned him. Their daughter was sick. She couldn’t come out to play. She couldn’t go to school. They had to take special care of her. They had to protect her. And here, yet one more locked door, hiding their sins for them. It wasn’t just anger that coursed through him. It was outright fury. He gripped the knob tighter, turning futilely, and shoved his shoulder against the jam with a loud thud. It did not give.

Cas threw himself at the door again and felt it shake in its frame. Desperation over riding sense, he staggered back, took one good look at the door, and kicked as hard as he could just below the knob. The toe of his shoe caught on the rounded edge of it, twisting his ankle to the side just enough to hurt, but it didn’t matter. Wood splintered and the door nearly came free. Emboldened, Cas drew back and kicked again.

With a loud crack, the door swung inwards. The room beyond was pitch black, the curtains drawn to block out even the most persistent ray of light from outside. No moonlight to pierce the gloom. No helpful streetlamp to guide his way. Cas reached out to the side, running his fingers along the wall beside the door, hoping for a light switch. Luck was with him, at least for the moment. Flipping the switch, he flooded the room with light, building slowly. One of those eco friendly lights his mother was so fond of, starting off dim and then growing brighter as it warmed up. It revealed the room to him in a wash of cold, white light. Cas wasn’t sure what he had been expecting after the room upstairs, but it certainly hadn’t been this. The cleanliness, the orderly bookshelves...he’d half expected a torture chamber, not this mildly overstuffed office.

There was so much to look at, he felt a touch overwhelmed. But Meg was in danger, of that he was certain, and so he moved directly towards the desk. It was scattered with papers and books. A mug of coffee sat on the corner, ice cold, the cream forming it’s own ring around the inside. Above the desk hunk a corkboard rather like in his own room. But, unlike his, which was neatly ordered and easy to peruse, this was covered in so many things it appeared to be stacked three deep in places. It was too much to consider just at the moment. He needed something immediate. Something that might tell him what they had been doing to Meg. Some clue as to where they might be now. His hands skated over the papers, plucking them at random and scanning them quickly. He’d expected bills, if he was honest with himself. Junk mail. The typical trappings of a home office. Short sighted, he supposed. This room didn’t even have a computer. But they were not bills. They weren’t anything like what he’d been expecting.

The first thing he picked up appeared to be a packet of notes printed off the internet. It was stapled in one corner and folded open to a page in the middle. It was a simple enough table, with a list of dates and what appeared to be lunar phases. At least, he thought that’s what it must be. Waxing...waning...full… No surprise to see today’s date circled. The start of the full moon, he could see, though it wouldn’t be truly full for another two days yet, according to the little chart. Cas scanned the rest of the page for anything relevant, but frustration was settling in. This wasn’t helpful and it was taking too long. He got as far as a heading marked “Eclipses” at the bottom of the page before giving up and tossing the packet back down on the desk.

Cas reached at random into the mess of the desk, pulling up a yellow legal pad filled with handwritten notes. They were barely legible and he tossed it down almost as soon as he’d picked it up, reaching instead for small pile of books spilled across yet another thin stack of printer paper. He picked them up, the better to get at the papers underneath, glancing at them only sparingly. New age stuff. Useless. The packet was equally unhelpful, seeming to contain nothing more than recipes. At least, that’s what they looked like to him. List of ingredients followed by paragraphs of instructions. Useless. He tossed them back down with a low grunt of frustration. His lips were pulled back in a grimace as he stared down at the chaos in front of him, running his hands through his hair nervously. None of this was helping, and he had already lost so much time.

His eyes drifted over the cork board and there, at last, something caught his eye. In the middle of the chaos was a map of the area, though most of it was covered by other things. There were newspaper articles tacked all over it. Some were recent, but some appeared to be photocopies of much older articles. He started reading headlines at random, desperate for something, anything, that might tell him where they had gone. The articles had a theme, of sorts. The newer ones were almost all the same. Girl, lost in woods. Search parties sent out, but nothing found. Boy, lost in woods, no trace found. Girl’s school bag found in woods, no other trace recovered. But the older articles...those were a bit more strange. Near the top of the board was a long story captioned with the headline “Baby found by Hikers.” Beside it was a smaller one with a picture of what appeared to be the same two hikers and a little girl. An update to the previous story maybe? No time to find out. There were just too many. Baby heard crying in woods...never found. Bones of toddler found in woods, victim unknown. Strange lights over woods, lead police to lost child. Over and over again, at least a dozen stories. And all of them, every last one, about a child lost in the woods.

But there, just under the edge of one of the printed articles, Cas saw something that turned the desperation he felt into anger. No, beyond that. White hot rage coursed through him. Just peeking out from under the corner of the paper was a photo of Meg. He might not have even know it was her, but who else could it be? She couldn’t have been more than three in the photo, and yet her face was completely obscured. Someone...he suspected her mother almost immediately...had scratched through her face with black marker. They’d hated her, even as a baby. Cas reached for it, pulling it free, only to find that it was tacked together with a photo of Meg’s mother, holding a baby. A baby with blonde hair that she had never had.

Slowly, his hand closed over the photos, drawing them into his fist and crushing them there. He was furious. Furious in a way he’d never been before. Extremes of any kind were so rare for him, and yet there he stood, nearly ready to punch the wall just for the sake of destroying something. Cas looked back up at the map, teeth clenched almost to the point of pain. And there, at last, he saw something useful. In the blank spot where the pictures had been tacked, there was a small circle on the map. It was deep in the woods, but he knew the spot. Kids went there sometimes to smoke, to party, to make fires and to do things he had no interest in doing. Circled, and marked with the date. Cas dropped the crumpled photos on the desk. He didn’t look back as he rushed out of the room.


	4. Chapter Three

 

 

“You sure about this, man?” Dean let the car idle on the side of the road. “It’s the middle of the night, you couldn’t meet this girl any other time?”

Cas barely spared his friend any attention. His eyes were glued to the window, searching the dark line of trees for signs of the path he had been assured would be there. Dean had been a necessary difficulty. With no car of his own and no time to lose, there hadn’t been many options open to him. Dean, at least, could be counted on to help him with a girl. He’d tried often enough in the past, after all. A simple lie then. A midnight rendez vous with the girl next door...homeschooled, you wouldn’t know her...and Dean had been at his door in a flash. He’d been so full of questions, but Cas had no answers for any of them. He sat quietly in the passenger seat, trying not to stare at the speedometer and will him to go faster. He fidgeted with his seatbelt, the creases of his pants, for once in his life unable to stay still. And now, here they sat. On the edge of the woods. And he was suddenly unsure if he knew what he was doing, or if he could even help her at all.

“I’ll be fine,” he said, and opened the door with a loud creak of old hinges.

He heard Dean sigh behind him as he closed the door and part of him wondered how long his friend would linger before driving off. They hadn’t made arrangements for when he might be picked up. He hadn’t thought that far ahead, and there was simply no time to think about it now. The grass at his feet was damp and slippery with melted snow, and the forest ahead was a wall of darkness. Cas moved forward, forgetting Dean completely, holding his breath as he moved from the light of the road to the dark of the trees.

The path was hard to follow in the dark, but Cas refused to go carefully. The moon overhead, so close to full, gave him enough light to see by, though only barely. The snow here was thicker, covering the path in places with bright whiteness that, in its own way, offered a ray of hope. There, in one particularly deep mound, Cas could see footprints. They were large, and they had to be recent. Trees or no trees, it would have melted down a bit during the day, surely. Recent...must have been...though how recent he had no way to know. Cas moved quicker, afraid to run. Afraid he would be heard. Surprise was the only real weapon he had, after all. Surprise and the knowledge that he would do whatever it took to save Meg, no matter what they were doing.

There was fire in the distance, and he made his way towards it, slowing his pace and lowering his body towards the ground as he moved. Cas heard them long before he saw them, and he froze, bent nearly double, trying to listen. Trying to get an idea of what he was walking into, where Meg was, anything he could use.

“Hand me the bowl.” Her mother’s voice. Sharp and authoritarian. Cas could hear something metal scrap and the hollow bong of a metal bowl being set down. “I’m going to anoint her.”

“Let me.” Her father. He didn’t sound as sure as her mother did. Or as confident. He sounded almost resigned. “She bites me it won’t matter as much.”

For a moment, there was silence. And then...Cas heard her. There was a low sound, something close to a growl, but it was her voice. He’d have known it anywhere. They must have gagged her, that was the only explanation he could think of. The sound picked up in pitch and was joined by the sound of clanking chains. She was struggling, bound and gagged. Cas’s hands were clenched into fists so tight they started to hurt. Quite suddenly, her voice filled the air, spewing profanities, threats, wordless sounds...only to be cut off in a gurgling choke as something liquid was poured into her mouth. She sputtered and coughed, retching loudly, and a loud smack filled the air. Silence returned.

“You didn’t have to hit her.” Her father’s voice again.

“We don’t know who else is out here.”

Cas’s willpower was wearing thin. The urge to rush into the clearing and hurt them both for hurting her was very strong. But he was no fool. He needed a better plan than that, and he had no time to come up with one. Not better perhaps, but at least he could be smarter. He moved closer to the clearing, as quietly as he could, certain that each step was going to come down on a loud twig and bring them rushing out to stop him. He shifted cautiously between the trees, moving closer to where he’d heard her voice. Untie her and run...that was the plan. It wasn’t a good one, but it was the only one he had. If she was chained, he’d need to find the key, a near impossible task most likely. But he might be able to get her free of whatever she was bound to. If he could just do that, they could worry about chains and locks later. When she was safe.

Edging close to the circle of light that filled the small clearing, Cas got his first good look at what he was walking into.

Candles ringed the area. They were large and fat, sending up sickly yellow light into the clearly and filling the immediate area with a cloying, lemony scent. They guttered in the slight breeze that blew through, but did not go out. To his right was a small fire, ringed with stones to keep it reigned in, and over top sat a rather abused looking stock pot. Cauldrons must have been in short supply, apparently. It was scorched on all sides from sitting directly over the fire, and the lip was coated with something thick and vaguely green in the half light. Almost directly across from him was a long, low table that could have been stolen from the living room of any normal home, had it not been covered with such an odd assortment of items. There was a large, silver bowl, set right in the middle, overtop of black markings that Cas couldn’t see from such a distance. More candles ringed it, in various colors. Bunches of herbs were gathered on all sides, some looking burnt or even still smoking. Firelight glinted off of things he could not quite make out. Metal tools, he assumed. Maybe even the key to the chains.

Beside the makeshift altar stood Meg’s parents. They were facing each other, arguing quietly, making frantic gestures towards the surrounding trees, but he could not hear what they said. Had it not been for their surroundings, they might not have looked odd. They were dressed like...well...parents. Their clothes were normal, if just a touch outdated. They certainly didn’t look like two people who belonged in the center of a ritualistic circle like this one. He’d half expected cloaks and hoods. Instead he saw mom jeans and tennis shoes.

And there, in the center, was Meg. She was laid out on the ground, prostrate. A white piece of cloth was tied around her head, gagging her, and another was tied around her eyes. Her hands were bound over her head by old fashioned chains and cuffs and he had to wonder, in the back of his mind, where her parents had found such things. She appeared to be staked to the ground, though he couldn’t see with what. Most likely a tent stake. That was the best case scenario really. If he could get his fingers around the pin, he could pull it free. Why did didn’t do it herself, he couldn’t determine. Surely the chain was thick enough to give her leverage? He tried to look closer. Tried to understand. Cas followed the length of chain from where it disappeared against the ground up to where it held her wrists, and there, he thought, he had his answer. The skin around her wrists was red and burnt, even to the point of blackness in places. The pain must have been terrible.

Any thought he’d had of waiting and planning died instantly at the sight of that blackened, cracked skin. Cas rushed forward into the clearing, only half his attention on attempting to stay quiet. He reach with both hands to grasp the chains where they came together on the ground. But he never got to pull.

A large body collided with him, tackling him to the ground and forcing all the air out of his body with a loud explosion of sound. Cas gasped for air, head back in the dirt, eyes open and staring upwards. Chains rattled nearby, but he had no breath to tell her not to struggle. Not to hurt herself more. Meg’s father stood over him, slowly. He was breathing heavily, and his hair looked disheveled. He half knelt over Cas, pressing his knee against his chest to hold him still.

“Don’t move, boy. No one needs to get hurt.”

“Hold him down!” her mother hissed from far too close. Cas rolled his head sideways to see her standing over him. In her hand was the largest knife he’d ever seen. Not a kitchen knife, oh no. This blade had to be at least a foot long, and it curved in a snake like pattern that threw the firelight into strange shimmers on it’s flat surface. “I’m doing this now, before anyone else comes.”

“No!” The word was strangled from him, despite the weight on his chest, and he struggled to rise. “Meg!”

“Shut him up!” the woman hissed, moving out of his view. The man who held him, the man who should have been a father to the only girl that had ever mattered in either of their lives, pressed harder against his chest. Both hands clamped down around Cas’s throat, squeezing tight. Was he trying to kill him? It became more difficult to breath and Cas clawed at the man’s hands instinctively before any kind of logic could work it’s way into his mind. Seeing stars, he reached instead for the man’s face, throat, whatever he could get his hands on. His legs kicked wildly, trying to unseat him, but he was too big to shift.

Chains clanked beside him. He could hear Meg struggling. Hear her muffled voice from behind the gag. Vague grunts and the sound of struggle, and he waited for the sounds to stop. To hear something heavy slam into her, silence her forever. He tried to call her name again but there was no air to give it voice.

Meg’s voice picked up in pitch, a sound that was equal parts pain and rage. This is it, he thought, darkness creeping in at the corners of his eyes. She’s dying and I can’t save her.

The chains clanked louder and something heavy met something soft. Cas heard a body hit the ground with a loud grunt and, quite suddenly, he could breath again. Meg’s father had let him go, twisting around to stare at something behind him.

“Helen!”

Cas dragged air into his lungs and twisted his body with all the strength he could muster, sending the larger man toppling sideways. He coughed, nearly retching, as he struggled to fill his lungs with air. Looking around wildly, he tried to find Meg.

At first, she was hard to locate, and then he realized why. She was no longer on the ground beside him. Instead, she stood, hands clasped together in front of her, still held together by the heavy iron manacles, chain swinging down between them. The metal stake that had held them in place dragged the ground, still caught in a link in the chain. His eyes moved slowly upwards and he could practically feel the eyes of her parents doing the same as they fixed on her face. She’d dragged the cloth out of her mouth and it hung in a strip of white across her throat, but she did not speak. Her teeth were bared like a wild animal and her eyes...her eyes were solid black. They reflected the firelight like small, dark mirrors. Cas had always known she wasn’t what he was, though he’d always hesitated to frame the thought in its entirety. But he’d never seen her look less human.

Her parents drew away in fear, shrinking from her, but Cas felt no such inclination. Scrambling to his knees, light headed and desperate, he pushed himself towards her. He wanted...he wasn’t sure. To make sure she was alright, perhaps. To touch her and feel the solidness of her under his hands. To reassure himself that this creature in front of him was still the girl he loved. He reached for her, but she didn’t seem to see him. Her eyes were focused downwards, at her hands, and at the iron that bound her. Her lips pulled further back away from her teeth and a low growl started in the back of her throat. He didn’t realize what she was attempting to do until it was too late to stop her.

Meg dug her fingers beneath the cuff on her left hand. Smoke curled from her fingertips where they pressed against the metal and what had started as a barely audible sound rose to nearly a shriek as she started to push. The cuff slid downwards and the scent of burning flesh filled the air. Inch by inch, she shoved the band down over her hand, burning as it went, taking off great chunks of flesh that melted away like wax. Cas reached to help her but he was already too late. She had moved too fast, despite the destruction she caused to her own body. It fell free and her legs shook, knees nearly giving way beneath her. Her hand was covered in a sheen of red blood and blistered flesh.

Cas found his feet at last, moving to steady her, to hook his fingers into the edges of the other cuff and keep it away from her skin, but she shook him off. “I’ll get the key,” he said, his voice strained and hoarse, but she didn’t seem to hear him. She pushed her bloodied fingers into the edge of the remaining manacle and shoved it down. Faster, now that she clearly knew what to expect. She gave a great wail of pain and sagged backwards. Cas reached out to catch her as the metal clanked down to her feet. She shook, as he held her, her hands held out awkwardly in front of her. They looked almost as though she were wearing gloves, fingers splayed out and useless.

“You’re not human!” Cas looked up in surprise, arms tightening around Meg instinctively. Her mother stood on the opposite side of the small clearing, blood running in a thin line down the side of her face. “You’ve never been human!”

Meg’s reaction was swift. Both hands shot out, one directly in front of her and the other to the side. Cas had seen things like this in films, but the experience, he found, was much more surreal than could ever be expected. He saw the body of her mother lift off the ground and fly backwards, almost as though a rope had been tied around her waist and was dragging her up against the trees. There was movement to his left, and he turned, not quite fast enough to see her father slam into a trunk some ten feet above the ground. He looked down at the girl in his arms, eyes still coated in inky, inhuman blackness. Instinct told him to let go, but still he held on.

“Not human?” Meg’s voice was shrill. Angry. He’d never heard her sound that way before. The sound was jarring against his memories of soft whispers and quiet laughter. “Then what are you? You were supposed to be my family! You’re the only family I’ve ever had!”

Cas’s arms tighten perceptible around Meg’s waist. It wasn’t true. They weren’t the only family she’d ever had. She’d always had him.

“We’re not your family!” her father spat almost at the same time her mother began to laugh. The sound bordered on hysteria and Cas saw Meg’s hand twitch. The laugh cut off in a strangled cry of pain as she twitched, feet dangling uselessly in the air so far above the ground. She hacked and spit a mouthful of blood onto the ground.

“You’re not my daughter!” she said, her voice thick. “They took my daughter. They took her and left me with you. Demon spawn. Unnatural thing. I should have left you in the woods like they do in the stories!”

Meg went rigid in his arms and he looked down at her in concern. She was quiet, and expression turned blank. No longer the feral snarl. Her black, fathomless eyes stared at the woman that had been her mother without blinking.

“I never asked you for anything. You locked me up and I let you. You should have killed me. If you had then I wouldn’t have to do this.”

Cas felt the tension in her building. Felt the way her arms twisted, reaching across the space between her and the people that had held her prisoner her entire life. Her hands, bloody and ruined, were curved into claws, fingers trembling as she drew in a breath. Preparing...for what he dared not thing.

“Meg…” His voice was barely louder than a whisper. Little more than an exhalation of breath. She was no longer leaning against him, yet still he held her. Reaching up with one hand, he brushed her hair away from her face, fingers light as he tucked an errant lock behind her ear. His hands shook, betraying his fear, but it wasn’t fear of her. It was fear for her. He looked down and it was so hard to see the girl he’d known and loved his whole life, and yet she was still there. But he feared...so much...that if she couldn’t be pulled back, now, that girl might be lost forever. “Don’t.” It was a plea, not an order. He breathed the word against her ear, eyes closed to block out the scene around them. It might have been any other night, he told himself. Any night, laying in his bed, her warm body pressed against his chest. Any night but this one…

“They’d do it to me.” Her voice quavered with emotion, but he didn’t know what sort.

“I know.” His arms tightened around her and, ever so gently, he pressed a single kiss against her temple.

Meg’s weight sagged against him quite suddenly, sighing heavily, and he risked opening his eyes. Her parents were gone. No trace of them remained in the small clearing. Cas glanced surreptitiously to the sides, but he couldn’t see them anywhere. She must have sensed his scrutiny. Sighing again, she shook her head.

“They’re fine. I sent them home. At least it’ll give me a head start.”

“A head start?” Cas looked down on her, his brow drawing down in confusion.

“Well I can’t exactly go home, now, can I?” Meg pulled away from him and he let her go reluctantly. Bending nearly double, she clutched her hands to her chest. For a moment, nothing happened. And then, building slowly, the clearing seemed to fill with a low humming. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end and he reached for her, instinctively, once more.

Light crawled along her skin, almost imperceptible. At first, he though he merely saw candle light, but it was more than that. It was her. Her hands glowed warm and bright, forcing him to look away. The glare snuffed out suddenly, and he opened his eyes on darkness, blinking rapidly as his eyes tried to adjust. He could barely see her in the gloom, but he hardly needed to. Reaching out, she touched his cheek lightly. He expected her touch to be damp. To leave blood. But her fingers were warm and soft. Cas reached up to clutch at her hand, feeling the smooth flesh beneath his fingers. Her breathing was heavy, as though she had just run a long distance, and he could see her eyes in the darkness. White...there was white in her eyes. She was herself. She had always been herself.

“Goodbye,” she said quietly. Before he could react, she stood on her toes, pressed a quick, fleeting kiss to his lips, and turned, running quickly into the trees in the darkness.

 

* * *

 

The woods really were beautiful, she had to give them that. She’d never been this deep in them before. There was something about the way the light filtered down through the bare branches that was both stark and lovely at the same time. The snow hadn’t melted here. It still covered the ground in soft, smooth whiteness. Broken, now, by her passage, as so many other things had been. Meg paused in the center of a small clearing, feeling almost trapped despite the emptiness around her. The trees that lined the edge of the small ring of space were like bars on a cell. Fear of freedom, perhaps. The thought pulled a sardonic little laugh from her. One that quickly tilted, edging towards hysteria, tears, or a scream of anguish...she wasn’t yet sure. Gathering her arms tight around her chest, she sat down gracelessly on a damp, rotting stump, and attempted to hold herself together. Physically...mentally...she no longer cared which, so long as she managed at least one.

She heard him before she saw him. Of course he would follow. She’d never really thought he wouldn’t. Wasn’t that what she expected when she fled the way she had? That he would chase her? She could have left him so far behind he’d have had no hope of catching up, but instead she’d merely run. Run through drifts of snow, and then waited for him to find her. He was the only good thing about her life and always had been. Truly running from him? Impossible. His footsteps stopped, but she didn’t look up at him.

"Guess your parents pushing you into sports all these years is finally paying off, huh?" Cas didn’t reply. She didn’t really need him to. “Chasing a monster through the woods, you want to be able to keep up, right? Wouldn’t want to risk it getting away.”

“You’re not a monster.”

Meg laughed, shaking her head. The snow had melted beneath her feet and she scuffed the toe of one shoe through the damp earth. "They lost their daughter because of me. And I don't even care. All I care about is getting the hell away from them so what the fuck does that say about me?" At last, she looked up at him, and, for once, she made no effort to hide the conflict within. Her face was pinched and tense. She could feel the lines of it and the start of a tension headache lurking in her temples. But then she looked at him. His expression was worried...as tense as her own. But there was no fear there. He’d never once looked at her in fear.

Sunlight filled the small cup in which they sat. Somewhere in the East, the sun was rising, but the light that filled the small clearing was so much more than the weak, watery dawnlight of winter. Meg looked at him, and she felt warm. She reached for him instinctively, without moving a single muscle, everything in her leaning towards him, reaching for the only sun that had ever existed in her sky. Her power, so close to the surface now, so ready to be used to protect her, was like a gentle tingle under her skin. She reached for it, wrapping it around herself like a protective blanket, but it could only ever do so much. It yearned for the comfort he brought, the same as she did.

Around her, the snow began to melt. A blank path of damp earth formed at her feet, reaching slowly across the clearing towards him. A tendril of spring, edging it’s way from her to him. Cas took a step towards her. And another. Relief flooded his face and, with each step he took, the warmth in the clearing grew. The bare path he followed spread out from him in a wide swath, reaching for the edges of the trees. Green shoots pushed their way out of the earth, unfurling leaves and tiny colored blossoms to the warm air.

Meg stood shakily, wary in spite of herself. She felt a distinct lack of control, seeing what she could do without even meaning to, but it wasn’t that which caused her fear. It wasn’t the sight of her otherness, displayed on all sides in the nodding heads of flowers and the creeping green of moss inching its way up the sides of the trees. It was seeing him come towards her, and having no idea what he would do when he reached her. She felt stiff and chilled. The warmth of the air clung to her skin but sank no further, leaving her cold a separated from the world around her. Just as she’d always been.

By the time he reached for her, she was already preparing to flee once more.

Cas wrapped his arms around her, drawing her into his chest. For a moment, she merely stood there, a wooden doll. And then, as Spring finally chased away the last of the winter around her, she melted into his embrace. Her arms slid around his waist and she pressed her face against his chest, breathing in the soft, clean smell of him. He smoothed her hair, pressing his cheek to the top of her head, and she felt his free hand moving cautiously over her back. A little squeeze, a tiny prod...he was trying to do a cursory injury check without letting her know, and she chuckled softly against him.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve a guardian angel, Cas, but I’m glad I got one.” She pulled back far enough to look up at him. “This doesn’t...how are you not batshit over this right now?”

“You’re safe now,” he said, sounding so much like the answer should have been obvious that she laughed. A real laugh. How terrified must he have been for her that he could accept this in stride, simply because she was safe?

A fraction of movement caught her eye and she turned towards it, instantly rigid in his arms, fear returning fast enough to bring a breath of cold air sweeping momentarily through the clearing. The trunks of the trees were alive with movement. From the bark, bright blue wings emerged as dozens, maybe hundreds of small blue butterflies pulled themselves from small holes and crevices, waking from hibernation into this false spring. Fluttering wings filled the air, swirling, at first, around the edges of the clearing, moving ever steadily closer to the center, and Meg drew in closer against Cas’s chest as she watched. A jewel bright butterfly drifted close to her and she held out one hand towards it, tentatively. It lighted on her outstretched finger and she looked up at Cas with a slight smile. His face was awestruck, but he wasn’t looking at the butterflies. Just at her.

“You’re beautiful,” he said quietly, and her smile widened.

Blue wings surrounded them, landing lightly on her shoulders. Her hair. They lighted on her arms, creeping up his arms from where he touched her to flutter close to his face.

“After everything you’ve seen today, how can you still look at me like that?”

“Because I love you.” Again that tone. The obviousness of his response.

There was so much to think about. So much to consider. So much, in fact, that Meg hardly knew where to begin. But, at least for the moment, there was solidness. Safety. She looked up into his eyes, and though she needed desperately to think, to plan...she let it go. She would face the difficulties of her situation later. Deal with the trauma of not only this night but of the seventeen years that came before later. Meg rose up on her toes, and his head dipped to meet her. The butterflies that covered them lifted off at their movement, swirling around them in a loose spiral. She kissed him, and it wasn’t a kiss that would bruise lips or beg for more. It was a promise, rather than a demand. His arms tightened around her, and he returned that promise without hesitation. Without fear or qualms. He loved her. He always had.


	5. Epilogue

 

 

Dear Mother and Father,

There are so many things I wish I could tell you. So many things I will never be able to explain. I have seen things that defy human knowledge. Things that are beyond the experience of our limited species.

Do not worry about me.

I am safe. And I am loved.

I love you both.

Castiel


	6. The Artwork

 

 

**THE ARTWORK**

**by Ryokoleigh and Ventrina**

 

 

 


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